


The Temptations of the World

by Polaris



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Come Eating, Cornelius Hickey Is His Own Warning, Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Religious Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 15:53:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26820202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polaris/pseuds/Polaris
Summary: Irving wondered if this was the way a rat felt when the trap snapped shut.
Relationships: Cornelius Hickey/Lt John Irving
Comments: 6
Kudos: 51





	The Temptations of the World

John Irving liked to think of himself as an upright man, righteous and generous as a good Christian ought to be. He prayed each morning and each night for his men, his commanders, his country, and his soul. In times like these one needed prayer more than ever, trapped as they were at the end of the world with dark forces swirling constantly about them. They had just lost Sir John. The devil was ever present, waiting for even the best Christian to falter. One slip was all he needed. Hope and prayer were all that could sustain against such despair.

“Lieutenant.” That was Hickey’s voice. Irving stopped, hating himself for the way his heart lurched in his chest. Fear, perhaps, or something worse. He turned to the smaller man.

“What is it, Mr. Hickey?” 

Hickey was always so affable, all pleasant smiles and harmless good cheer. It was part of what made him so dangerous. “Lieutenant, I’ve thought about what you said to me last week. About...the matter Billy told you of. I don’t think you have all the facts.”

Irving stiffened. “Are you suggesting Mr. Gibson lied to an officer?” he asked coldly. He could still remember the man in question, wretched with shame as he confessed to the most foul of sins. That had been a terrible day, not least because of the death of their commander.

“I’ll let you decide that, sir,” said Hickey with wide-eyed innocence. His eyes were very blue, Irving noted. “But as it’s a sensitive matter, I’d feel more comfortable discussing it in your cabin.”

Irving wondered if this was the way a rat felt when the trap snapped shut. He quickly looked around the deck, noting the bustle of innocent, hardworking men around them. Hickey had come to him here, in the full sight of the crew, with apparent goodwill. Perhaps Irving was imagining the mocking light in those bright blue eyes. 

He was the man’s direct superior. It was his duty to hear both sides of the story, the better to make a correct judgment. There was no way out of it. “Very well, Mr. Hickey. After dinner, then. And I believe we ought both of us to get back to work.”

“Of course, sir.” Hickey graced him with a broad smile. “Thank you for taking the time.”

Irving watched him saunter off—there was no other word for it—along the deck, slapping Manson’s shoulder jovially as he passed. It all looked innocuous to an untrained eye, but Irving knew too well what a devious sort Hickey really was. 

An extra prayer before bed, he thought. He’d likely need it after listening to whatever lies Hickey was to tell him this evening.

—

He was polishing his spyglass when the knock came later that evening. Dinner had been glum and rather dissatisfying; Captain Crozier had drunk too much again and Irving had been sat next to Hodgson, whose conversation was not precisely stimulating. Nothing was the same without Sir John’s presence at the table. And the food had all passed its prime, although the cook did what he could. So it was that Irving was not in his most generous mood when he opened the door and ushered Hickey inside.

“Good evening, Lieutenant.” Hickey, by contrast, was all smiles, as though he had nowhere he’d like to be so well as in Irving’s cabin. It was irksome.

“Mr. Hickey, the matter you raised to me is of the utmost seriousness,” said Irving sternly. “Please comport yourself in an appropriate manner.”

Immediately Hickey straightened up, drawing his shoulders back and puffing out his thin chest in an approximation of attention. “Yes, sir.”

Irving couldn’t help the suspicion that he was being mocked. 

If it had been anyone else—indeed, when it had been Mr. Gibson—Irving would have offered him the room’s only chair and sat on the bed, encouraging the man to make himself comfortable, to act with kindness. He left Hickey to stand, and took the chair for himself. “Why don’t you tell me what it is you think I need to know about Mr. Gibson’s account.”

Hickey smiled in a disconcertingly bright fashion. “Only that nearly all of it is false, sir.”

Irving couldn’t help the way his eyebrows rose skeptically. “False?” he repeated. “So you deny that the two of you engaged in unnatural relations?”

“Oh, no, I don’t deny that, sir.” Hickey twitched his jaw distractingly. He was far too blasé about admitting to a hanging offense. “I meant the bit where he told you I pressed him into service. That, Lieutenant, is the foulest lie I’ve ever heard.”

Irving frowned. “He was very clear on that point, Mr. Hickey.”

“I’m sure he was,” said Hickey affably. “I imagine he was very eager for you to believe he tried to resist my advances. Truth is, sir, he—” Here Hickey broke off, looking away as though embarrassed.

Irving had never seen him capable of shame. He leaned forward in his chair, hands clasped before him. “He what, Mr. Hickey?”

Hickey’s jaw twitched again, and he rocked on the balls of his feet. “Forgive me, sir,” he said sincerely. “I hardly dare speak the words.”

“You asked me to hear your confession,” Irving pressed him, although he flinched at the words as soon as they left his mouth. Confession was a papist concept, foreign to the ways of the true faith, and anyway he was not a priest. There was no absolution for the sin Hickey was admitting to; nothing but Christ could clean a soul stained with sexual immorality.

Hickey swallowed, his pale throat bobbing. He kept his eyes down and squared his shoulders as he finally said, “the truth is that he approached me as often as I approached him. He would—he’d say we couldn’t do it again, but then the next thing I knew he’d be begging me to meet him in the orlop. He said—” And now Hickey looked nearly apologetic as he raised those blue eyes to Irving and confessed, in a great rush— “he said it felt too good to stop. The things we did. He told me he loved it too much and he couldn’t resist it.”

Irving had gone very still, his pulse pounding in his ears. He became aware, dimly, that his mouth was quite dry, so he swallowed, and winced at how loud the sound was. “I see,” he managed after too long a silence. “So you...think he hid this from me out of guilt?”

“I’m sure he did, sir.” Hickey’s entire face radiated sincerity. “Usually I wouldn’t fault him for that, but it paints me in a rather terrible light, doesn’t it? I never pressed Billy, Lieutenant. I never had to.”

Irving straightened up, squaring his own shoulders. “I have only your word on that, Mr. Hickey.”

“D’you know many men who’d admit to bending over for another man twice a week for months on end?” asked Hickey, tipping his head in a winning fashion.

Irving recoiled. There was that bald shamelessness he had been so repulsed by in their previous conversations. “Don’t be lewd,” he snapped.

“It’s a lewd matter we’re discussing,” said Hickey with a shrug. “I’ve had my character rather foully besmirched, and I want the record set straight. The wrongs I’ve done I’ll gladly own, sir, but no others. Billy begged me for it. Every single time.”

“Enough!” Irving wanted to stand, to pace the room. He felt restless, disconcerted; horrified by what he was hearing and uncertain if he wanted to get to the heart of this. He ran a hand over his face with a deep breath. “I told you that God sees you, Mr. Hickey. He will know the truth of the matter, and as I am—disinclined to listen to more of this, perhaps that will have to satisfy you.”

“Are you well, Lieutenant?” Hickey peered down at him. “You look a bit flushed. Perhaps something at dinner sat wrong?”

Oh, God. Irving closed his eyes, humiliated. “What sits wrong is my knowledge of your perversity with Mr. Gibson, Mr. Hickey. I am disappointed that such things happened on my ship, between my men.”

Hickey’s expression softened then. “You mustn’t blame yourself, sir. It’s—difficult—for men like me to resist.”

“Men like you?” asked Irving roughly. 

Hickey nodded slowly. “I’ve never fancied a lady in my life. I know it’s wrong, looking at other men the way I do, and I thought—well, as you said, at sea there’s a chance to be washed clean. I thought I could be stronger. But I couldn’t stop the wanting.”

Irving stared up at him, aghast. All his worst fears came spiraling through his head like ice cold pinpricks. He’d long known that there were men who bedded other men, but the church explained that this was a choice, a sinful habit they picked up from their lives of debauchery and wantonness. But to hear Hickey confess that he wasn’t even drawn to women, well—

Irving had thought he was the only one. 

“God tests us,” he exhaled in a rough whisper. “We mustn’t falter, Mr. Hickey.”

Hickey’s brow furrowed for a moment before understanding bloomed across his face. “Lieutenant,” he breathed, “you mean you—”

“Face struggles, like any other man.” Irving looked abruptly away, straightening the blotter on his desk. He licked his dry lips, refusing to meet Hickey’s eye. “I’ve been fortunate to have a strong Christian background to shore up my defenses. It helps, Mr. Hickey, I assure you.” Finally he forced himself to look, and smile encouragingly.

“Then I’m sorry to have caused you such pain,” Hickey told him gently. “I never meant to tempt anyone, I promise.”

“You didn’t tempt me,” said Irving, far too quickly. Immediately his face flamed, and he had to look away again.

The silence stretched between them, torturous.

Then Hickey sighed, and Irving looked up sharply at the creak of the floorboards. His mouth dropped open as Hickey sat on his bed, casual as you pleased, and looked at him frankly.

“How long have you known?” he asked.

Irving’s mouth snapped shut. “I was twelve,” he said after a moment.

“Nine,” Hickey returned with a wry smile. “A girl tried to kiss me and I was so disgusted I shoved her in the dirt and ran home.”

Irving’s mouth twitched in spite of himself. “I was swimming with some of the other boys in the area,” he said softly, and nodded. “I stopped, once I realized.”

Hickey chuckled and shook his head. “You know, Billy has a girl back home. He wouldn’t, of course, if she ever found out what a good wife he’d been to me this past winter, but who’s going to tell her? It’s easier for men like that, who can still marry. I can’t.”

Irving lowered his eyes. “You could try.”

“Poor girl,” said Hickey amiably. “No, I wouldn’t do that to any woman good enough to marry me.”

“It might—” Irving swallowed again. “It could reduce the temptation.”

“Better than watercolors?” Hickey smiled broadly. 

“Do not scorn it,” Irving warned. “Hobbies have served me very well over the years. Only one of us has faltered, Mr. Hickey, and it is not I.”

“What, never?” Hickey leaned forward, resting his hands between his knees. “I’m impressed, sir.”

Irving looked down, pleased. “My advice may have been harsh when we spoke last, Mr. Hickey, but it was sincerely meant. You can live a clean life.”

“Maybe it’s easier when you’ve never sinned in the first place,” Hickey mused. “You were right to never indulge. Once you’ve touched another man, it’s hard to stop.”

Irving flushed. “Yes, I imagine it is.”

“I admire you, for being so strong.” Hickey studied him; Irving was afraid of what he might see. “It isn’t easy out here at sea. Surrounded by other men.”

“That is why we must busy ourselves,” Irving told him sincerely. “It is idleness that brings opportunities to sin. If you had been engaged in some wholesome pursuit, then Mr. Gibson would not have so easily been able to lure you into the orlop.”

“Billy didn’t lure me,” said Hickey softly, his lips curling into a smile. “There was no luring, Lieutenant. We just wanted to.”

Irving stopped, embarrassed. “I was—rather under the impression that between men, it was more—predatory,” he said haltingly.

“Oh, no.” Hickey shook his head. “It was sweet as you please, sir. Quick, because we had no real privacy, but sweet nevertheless. I never hurt him when I—” He broke off demurely. 

Irving hadn’t noticed how close their knees were. Nearly close enough to touch. “Noted,” he said faintly.

“If I was ever a little rough with him, it was only because he asked me to,” Hickey continued. “He liked that sometimes. Couldn’t say why.”

“Depravity,” Irving murmured, trying very hard not to think too much on it. 

“Yes, I suppose so.” Hickey nodded thoughtfully. “It was probably good we had to sneak about like we did, or God only knows what he’d have asked me for.”

Irving’s mouth was dry again. “Something vile, no doubt,” he managed.

Hickey nodded. “Very likely. I’m not proud of the things we did, Lieutenant. They were...filthy. I hated myself for it after, but...Billy was right about one thing. It feels too good to stop.”

Irving made the mistake of looking up then, and realized with a start how close their faces were. From here, he could see each individual strand of gingery hair on Hickey’s face, and smell the day’s sweat on him. His breath caught.

Hickey had frozen, as though he barely dared to breathe. His tongue, when it slipped out to wet his lips, was very pink. “It scares me, sir,” he whispered. “How good it is.”

Irving nodded faintly, transfixed by the shine of spit on Hickey’s lips. “Yes, I—I believe that,” he whispered back. 

“There’s something about the smell of a man, isn’t there?” Hickey’s voice was so soft. Irving had to lean closer to hear him. “Something...primal. It smells better than anything in the world, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” Irving breathed. How often he’d been tortured by that, the scent of a comrade, arms thrown carelessly over his shoulders in innocent affection, the press of a body that had him waking in the night, gasping and hard and so full of shame he wanted to die. 

“The taste is even better,” said Hickey in a low, secretive voice. 

Irving’s breath hitched. “You mean you’ve—” He couldn't say it. The very thought inflamed him, made him feel hot and itchy even in his shirtsleeves and waistcoat. It was so filthy, the very idea of putting his mouth on another man’s—

“I have.” Hickey bit his lip. His teeth were very even. “I like it.”

Irving wasn’t sure which of them moved first; one minute they were sitting together like civilized men, and the next they were on his bed. Hickey had pulled Irving on top of him and was kissing his mouth with an unrestrained hunger that made Irving’s head spin. That lean body was pressed all along his front, all sinew and bone, and there was a hardness pressing against his abdomen—

He pulled back, gasping. “No,” he croaked. “Mr. Hickey, we can’t.”

Hickey licked a stripe up his neck, making Irving shudder. “Stop me then,” he whispered. “Because I’m not sure I can stop myself.”

The touch of his tongue was like fire licking across Irving’s skin. It made him shudder. “We have to stop.” How did he sound so ruined? 

Hickey’s hands dragged down his back, making him arch into the lean body under him. “You taste good, did you know that?”

Irving was not prepared for this. How could he defend against something that made his belly quiver and his hands shake? He realized he was clutching at Hickey, gripping his arms as though afraid to let him go. God help him. “I—”

Hickey kissed him again, slow and open-mouthed. His clever tongue touched Irving’s, making him moan. Then, in a motion too quick for Irving to defend against, he flipped them over and shoved a thin thigh between Irving’s legs. “That’s better,” he whispered.

Irving gasped sharply, hips jerking as Hickey’s thigh rubbed against his shamefully hard cock. “Oh.” He should stop this. He needed to stop this.

Hickey groaned softly, sucking just so on Irving’s neck. It raised gooseflesh all over Irving’s body and made him moan. “Fuck,” Hickey breathed as he mouthed at Irving’s jaw. “I want you.”

Irving felt his legs fell open as though someone else had taken over his faculties. He burned with it, the desire coursing like lightning through his veins. His cock was leaking in his drawers. He couldn’t deny this if he tried. The next rhythmic press of Hickey’s thigh between his legs drew a high, shameful noise out of him.

“Shhhh,” whispered Hickey urgently. “You’ve got to be quiet, sir. We’ve got to keep so quiet.” His hands were hot on Irving’s body, roving over his chest, his sides, down to his hips. They felt like brands, or like the grip of hell. 

Irving wanted them on his bare skin.

“Please,” he whimpered, hardly knowing what he was asking, or whom. Perhaps it was God for mercy, because he was on fire with this unholy lust. Perhaps Hickey, begging him to quench the flames.

“Yes,” Hickey whispered back before catching his mouth again. His tongue was so wet as it traced Irving’s lips, making him mewl like a damned cat. His fingers, as quick and clever as the rest of him, flew to Irving’s trousers and made quick work of the fastenings.

Irving trembled when Hickey reached inside, that burning hand touching his own inflamed flesh. Perhaps they were burning together now, lost as they were in it. Only Hickey’s mouth against his kept him from loosing the shameful noises in his throat. Hickey pulled out his cock and stroked it with a practiced hand, nipping at his lips and kissing him hard when he began to get loud.

“I’m sorry, sir.” Hickey was breathless as he squirmed. “I’m so sorry. I’m going to ruin you.”

Irving clutched at Hickey’s arms, panting as those terrible fingers tormented his cock. “Mr. Hickey—”

“The things I’d do to you if we had time,” Hickey growled, biting down sharply on Irving’s neck. “I’d strip you naked, sir. Suck your cock until you couldn’t speak save for my name. Tongue your arse until you were _dripping_ for me and then slide my cock into you so sweetly you’d weep.”

Irving sobbed, pulsing with desire at the vile words. God help him, Jesus help him, he was nearing a crisis. If Hickey said another word, he was going to spill all over his hand. “You mustn’t,” he whined. “God, please, you mustn’t say such things.”

“Can’t help myself.” Hickey did something sinful with his wrist that made Irving’s leg twitch from the pleasure of it. “I like the way your cock jumps when I talk to you.”

“Oh God.” Irving turned his face away, closing his eyes. 

Hickey sped the motion of his hand, wringing pleasure from Irving with practiced ease. “Look at me,” he whispered, his whiskers brushing Irving’s ear just before the slither of his tongue touched the sensitive skin. “I want you to look at me when you spill.”

Irving let out a despairing moan, hardly daring to open his eyes. Something in Hickey’s voice compelled him to obey, though, so he turned back, frightened of what he would see when he met the other man’s eyes.

Hickey smiled down at him, as sweetly and innocently as though they were merely talking. “When you finish, I’m going to feed you your spend,” he said pleasantly.

Irving came with a bitten-back scream, his entire body convulsing with the force of it. For a moment he was transported; bliss rolled through his body like a great wave, pulsing over him to the beat of his pounding heart. He lay there for some moments, panting, and then, gradually, awareness returned.

What had he _done?_

Before he could fully appreciate the horror of what he’d done, Hickey grabbed his chin and pressed another burning kiss to his mouth. “You’re a lovely sight, Lieutenant,” he whispered. “But we’ve got to clean up our messes, haven’t we?” 

Irving gasped, his guts twisting in a tangle of arousal and revulsion as Hickey pressed his hand—filthy with Irving’s own spend—to his lips. “Don’t,” he whispered.

“Oh, let’s not pretend, hm?” Hickey gave him another affable smile. “God might see me, but I see you. And I saw that the very thought of this had you soiling my hand. Now clean it up.”

Irving shut his eyes tightly, shaking his head. But it was true. Would he make a liar of himself now, as well as a sodomite? The thought made him sob.

“Now now, Lieutenant, no need for tears.” Hickey leaned down and kissed his forehead. “You said it yourself, there’s always forgiveness for sins. You can pray when I leave, hm? But now you’ve got to clean me up.”

Irving shuddered, peering up at Hickey and biting his lip. Hickey nodded once, gentle and reassuring.

Irving could smell the sex on Hickey’s fingers. It disgusted him.

“Lick it up, now.” Hickey’s voice was terribly soothing. “Lick it up and think about how I could have made you suck my cock.”

Irving moaned again miserably and licked at Hickey’s fingers. His seed was thick, coating his tongue with bitter musk. He nearly gagged, but Hickey cooed at him, pushing his fingers deeper into Irving’s mouth.

He did gag then, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t say why; he didn’t enjoy this, but it aroused him. And Hickey’s expression was tight and hungry above him, reminding Irving of the implicit threat he’d just made. 

Would Irving enjoy it if Hickey made him debase himself that way? He was afraid of the answer.

He’d just finished laving his tongue between Hickey’s fingers when Hickey pulled back. “That’ll do, Lieutenant,” he said cheerfully. “Thank you.”

Irving caught his breath, telling himself he didn’t mourn the loss as Hickey backed off of the bed. Carefully, he sat up, curling in on himself to hide his exposed cock.

“No need for that, sir.” Hickey smiled cheekily. “We’re already well acquainted, he and I.” He pulled out a cigarette. 

“You will not smoke that in here,” Irving told him in a low voice.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” said Hickey. “I hope you see what I mean now, Lieutenant, about me and Billy. No one lured anyone. It just happened.”

Irving’s face went hot. “I think you ought to leave now, Mr. Hickey,” he said tightly. 

“As you like.” Hickey put the cigarette between his lips. “When you want me again, you let me know.”

“How dare you?” Irving sat up straighter. “Get out this instant, you impertinent—”

“Maybe,” said Hickey, talking over him as though he hadn’t even spoken, “I’ll let you put your finger up my arse next time.”

Irving’s mouth snapped shut.

Hickey grinned. “I thought so. Pray for me tonight, won’t you, sir? I’m going to need it after I frig myself to thoughts of you.” 

And with a wink and a winning tip of his head, he was gone.

Irving stared after him, aghast, and let himself fall back into his bed. He stared at the ceiling of his berth, wretched with the knowledge at the heart of the entire matter. His worst fears were confirmed; no amount of prayer would help him now that he’d eaten of this particular apple. His body still sang with the echoes of pleasure. Hickey’s eyes and hands and scent were part of him now. He could close his eyes and recall the exact curve of those wicked smiles. God have mercy.

He was going to do it again.


End file.
